Bloom
by sparklylulz
Summary: Like Peeta and Katniss, Haymitch and Effie grow together, but with a little more snark and less reluctance. -Haymitch/Effie, post-Mockingjay.


**a/n: **just a little Haymitch/Effie to help me keep writer's block at bay. Title comes from The Paper Kites.

_**'bloom'**_

_one._

The first time Haymitch ever took a drink, he'd been fourteen. The bottle next to his mother's bed was almost too easy to steal, and when he threw up before class the next morning, his teacher just shook her head sadly.

It's funny, after he wins – if you could really define murder as winning – that all the Capitol citizens whisper about is how he'd been strong enough to be crowned victor, and yet weak enough to let addiction eat away at his life.

He meets Effie during one of his black out benders, comments on her "clown make-up" and gets a nice slap in return.

Maybe that's when it all started – he doesn't really remember much other than a bruised pride and her sharp glare which followed.

Effie survives a war. She lives through days and days that she wishes she could erase from her memory.

When she steps out into the sunlight for the first time in months, the only face she sees in Haymitch's. He doesn't tease her or mock her, instead he offers her a calloused hand.

She takes it without hesitation, and then promptly tells him that he needs a haircut.

* * *

_two. _

Two years after the war ends, she's living in District 3, working quietly as a teacher. She always loved children, even if she would probably never have any of her own. At night she has flashbacks of the names she called out to the terrified masses, leading innocent faces like lambs to a slaughter.

Her fingers shake under the silk gloves that lace up her arms, but no one here knows who she used to be. They don't remember pink wigs and forced smiles.

She only watches Katniss and Peeta's life from the eyes of the press. During one broadcast of "_Where Are They Now?" _they pan to Haymitch's new home.

For a second she can't find enough air in her lungs. She closes her eyes and counts back from ten and when she's opens them again, the report has ended.

She picks up the phone three years after Snow's death.

"If it's those goddamned reporters again, I told you: if you come on my property again, you'll leave with worse than a broken camera!" He shouts instead of a hello.

She laughs softly into her receiver, "Didn't your mother ever teach you the proper way of answering a telephone?"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to call people in the middle of the night?" He snaps back, "You've completely ruined my beauty sleep regiment for the evening."

Realizing how much she misses him is like a punch to the stomach. She wants to laugh and cry, but instead she settles on a snort.

"I'm dreadfully sorry about that, I know you need as much as you can get."

They keep bickering for another two hours, even thought it's 3 a.m. in District 12 and she has to get up to teach in the morning. He doesn't mention Peeta or Katniss and she doesn't ask, mostly because she doesn't want to know.

When they do hang up, he doesn't tell her to never call him again so she takes that as a sign of progress.

She makes it 17 hours before she picks up her phone and dials his number again.

* * *

_three._

The new District 12 is mostly still dust and trees, but the people aren't as dirty as she remembers.

The children playing in the streets laugh openly as she passes by, and she wonders if things hadn't happened they way they did, which of their names her hand would've pulled out of the glass bowl.

Haymitch isn't at home when she knocks, so she decides to take a walk into the forest behind his home. Her bones still ache from the torture she once endured, and she can't wear high heels at all anymore.

Her natural honey blond locks dance in the wind, and she rejoices in the warmth of the sun on her pale skin.

"This is technically trespassing." Haymitch's words are rewarded with a heavy eyeroll.

"Don't make me slap you again." She smiles, watching him approach her.

He stops a foot away, examining her clean face. "You look good."

"You look old."

He laughs at that, and the warmth reaches all the way to his eyes. He does look older, but his face isn't gaunt and his irises don't seem hollow anymore.

After a moment, she steps forward and puts one hand in his hair.

"You finally cut it." She says softly.

"Well, Katniss didn't want to braid it anymore," He deadpans back, but he raises his own hand to cover hers.

It's hard at first. It's hard to let herself love him.

He still drinks, but it's less when she's there. They argue over things like dirty socks and which of them can cook better. (Actually, neither of them really ever learned how to take care of themselves so it's a draw).

When he stops bringing home bottles filled with amber liquid, she cries.

When he shakes and vomits for days and days, she stays next to him, holding cool washcloths to his forehead and whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

She tells him that she loves him the last night of his withdrawal, and his pale, sweaty face stretches into a small smile.

"You aren't going to slap me again are you?" He coughs out, but she understand what he means.

Sometimes when she isn't looking, Haymitch studies the outline of jaw, cataloging all the freckles she once covered under layers and layers of paint. He notices that her hands shake now, but his do too, so he holds hers tightly when they're alone.

"–so I was thinking maybe we should plant red tulips instead of yellow ones, I always liked them more for a Spring garden," She prattles on, her bare feet stuck up on his worn coffee table.

"Marry me." He blurts out in the middle of her long speech on Spring versus Fall colors, and she doesn't miss a beat when she responds:

"Okay, but really, do you think maybe we should have a mix of both?"

* * *

_four._

She never thought she'd marry a recovering alcoholic from District 12, but as she stands at the edge of their garden, watching him squirm in a tie, she thinks maybe this was always meant to happen.

Katniss and Peeta are standing on either side of the make-shift aisle, and it's makes her chest tighten. They were braver than she ever was, but they didn't hold it against her, not anymore at least.

"I can't believe you didn't wear shoes," She hisses when she gets to him, staring at his exposed toes, blades of grass sticking from between them.

"It's _my _backyard, and it's footwear-optional" He points out obstinately.

"It's _our_ backyard now, actually." She corrects, and she can't fight the wide smile as it spreads across her cheeks.

He gives her a grin in return, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."

He kisses her in bright sunlight, surrounded by the red tulips they planted together. His lips are warm on hers, and even though she always imagined he'd taste like scotch, instead he tastes like their shared mint toothpaste.

After they break apart, he slides a ring onto her finger, (one she knows once belonged to his mother), and she vows to love him in all ways.

"I love you even though you're the most stubborn person on this planet." She says, a soft smirk outlining her features.

"And I love you even though you're the a pain in my ass," He retorts, but it lacks any real malice.

He outstretches a hand to her like he had once a long time ago. She takes his steady hands into hers and pulls him closer, but he leans in to whisper into her ear, "How forward of you, Mrs. Abernathy."

"I could get used to that," She whispers back, then stepping onto her tiptoes, she kisses him again.


End file.
